


challenge

by CapnShellhead



Series: calculated promises [4]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 22:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14006436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnShellhead/pseuds/CapnShellhead
Summary: T'Challa starts to wonder about succession as a Jabari tradition leads him to wonder if M'Baku will remain by his side.





	challenge

**Author's Note:**

> I could not find very many things on Jabari tradition. That being said, all of this was made up. I got to thinking about how their leadership structure would work and how it would differ from the central Wakandans. Especially with the Jabari being so far away and on their own for centuries.

T’Challa stares out across the boundless peaks of the Jabari land.

The mountains went on for further than the eye could see but that didn’t stop him. He was King of this land now… all of it. He should know it; every rise and fall, every hill and valley, every dark corner. More than his duty, he wanted to know this land better. He wanted to love this land.

Because he loved a man who had been born here.

Strong arms wrap around him, pushing him into the the railing a little. He fights the smile at first, warm fur brushing his bare back as he’s enveloped in heat. Soft breathing in his ear and then grumbling words washing over his sleep warm skin, “What are you doing, tiny king? Have you grown so bored of your time here that you have begun counting mountains?” A soft kiss behind his ear, drawing a smile on T’Challa’s face. “I have tried; it is impossible.”

He rocks T’Challa softly and laughs when T’Challa’s head falls back and he sighed. “No, I am trying to get warm.”

“Outside?” M’Baku asks, doubtful. “Come inside. I can keep you warm.”

“You will keep me,” T’Challa corrects. “I have places to be, M’Baku. I cannot lose another hour.”

“I would take longer than an hour,” M’Baku grumbles. “Do not insult me.”

He drops a kiss to T’Challa’s neck, smiling when he lets M’Baku take more of his weight. “How long do you have?” T’Challa asks quietly.

“As long as I need. Ari can handle things while I’m busy acting as a blanket for spoiled kings.” T’Challa hums in understanding; he’d met Ari quite a few times. Enough to learn about his family and his hobbies outside of work. He adored M’Baku, in his own reserved way. He’d come to appreciate T’Challa as well, though it was probably because he knew T’Challa would be around a lot. M’Baku rocks T’Challa further, his chin resting on the top T’Challa’s head. “You are cold here?” he asks and T’Challa knows him well enough by now to hear the concern there.

“Not usually,” T’Challa admits quietly. Then, “Sometimes I feel like I’m still in the snow, weighed down. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be warm again,” he murmurs.

M’Baku scoffs, squeezing T’Challa tighter. It should feel stifling, uncomfortable… but it never did. “I am here to keep you warm, tiny king. Remember that.”

“You cannot be at my side all the time, M’Baku,” T’Challa says, more somber than he means it to be. No matter, M’Baku pets his stomach, the warmth of his furs warming T’Challa from the outside in.

“Try me,” he whispers.

*****

Years go on.

They just do. One day T’Challa looks up, surprised to see a council staring at him to lead the meeting. The next day, he is sitting at a banquet celebrating his first year as king. Then his second. Now, he is celebrating his sixth year and he looks around and wonders what he has to show for it. He has started STEM organizations, outreach programs and refugee programs around the world. He has begun working more intently with the United Nations and sharing some of their secrets. He has embraced the Jabari and done his best to make them feel more a part of the nation.

He has done so much.

It was not enough.

Not for T’Challa. He had centuries of wrongs to right and he could not do that in so little time. He especially couldn’t do that when he was traveling the globe from time to time helping the Avengers. But they’d lost their leaders, their Captain had died and their Iron Man had gone with him. They needed help with the threats too big for them to handle and T’Challa could not sit idly by and watch. So, he deferred more and more of his responsibilities to Shuri and the queen mother.

The council had already begun to talk of succession. Not out of disapproval of T’Challa’s ruling… or at least they’d done a very good job of hiding that. Still, it was important to discuss. According to tradition, he should have had someone in line to succeed him from the moment he won the challenge. No one knew what the future held; he needed to be prepared just in case. If asked, Shuri was first to mind. But, there was no doubt in his mind that she would be challenged immediately. She needed to train in combat more. He would have to work on that.

But still… it was considered _ideal_ for the succedent to be an heir.

A child.

He had never discussed it but, he knew it was expected of him. It was tradition.

A hand takes his and slides it under the table, startling T’Challa. He looks over to see M’Baku eating his food determinedly, blatantly avoiding T’Challa’s gaze. But there it was, his fingers entangled with T’Challa’s and resting on his thigh. T’Challa lowers his head to hide a smile and looks up to see Ramonda observing him a few seats down. Oh no, he knew that look. There was a lecture ahead of him.

Sighing, he picks up his wine glass and takes a long sip.

It was going to be a long night.

 

He bids M’Baku “farewell”. It is not goodbye; he will see the man later that night in their pavilion. Which T’Challa would sneak out to when he’d finished with the queen mother… like a dishonest king with a mistress.

She is waiting for him out on the patio, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders to keep out the chill. In all these years, she hadn’t aged. She still had the same fire in her eyes that instilled fear in him when he and Shuri had broken his grandmother’s vase and tried to hide the pieces. She was his mother in every sense of the word.

He stands in the doorway, bracing himself for the upcoming speech. She doesn’t spare him a look, taking a sip of tea as she calls out to him, “Are you not going to come join me, T’Challa?”

He straightens up and forces himself to take the steps to the chair waiting for him. He sits, his back stiff as he waits for her to speak. Then his nerves get the best of him, “Queen mother-“

“You know what my mother used to say to me about parties?” she asks quietly and T’Challa shakes his head because he does not know.

“She told me ‘be careful what you do in a room full of people. You will be seen.’” A shock travels down T’Challa’s spine as he fights to keep his face blank. It does not work and she cocks her head to the side. “I do not blame you for chasing happiness, my child. It is all we can do, especially when the world seems determined to take it from us.”

“But keep it hidden,” T’Challa finishes and she frowns at him.

“That is not what I meant to imply.” She waits, “You hide yourself away from the world. You hide your happiness… because you think it will displease others to see it?”

T’Challa lowers his eyes, thinking of Nakia. “I think it will displease others to see that I… will not produce an heir by the traditional means.”

Ramonda treats him with a look and then laughs. The sound is so unexpected that T’Challa finds himself smiling confusedly. “Is that what worries you? T’Challa, you are young still. If the concern is that the crown would leave the bloodline, have you missed Shuri? She’s quite tall and made quite a splash at the party tonight when she put on your old suit and pretended to be you.”

T’Challa laughs, remembering the way she’d mimicked kicking a mannequin and launched herself across the room. “She is not easy to miss.”

Ramonda pets his hand and continues, “You worry too much, T’Challa.”

T’Challa’s heart pounds, his eyes warm. “They will not accept this.”

“Maybe not,” she admits quietly, her eyes fierce. “And that is their folly. You are their king.”

“So, I should make due with being respected but not liked?” She sees something in his face that makes her stand and pull his face into her stomach. He wraps his arms around her and breathes in her scent, her hand stroking his back.

“I wish I could carry this burden for you but I cannot. It does not work that way. You have tried being king without happiness. Now you have tried being king with it. Are you honestly saying you would go back to the former?” She leans back to see him honestly consider it. “T’Challa,” she chides.

He shakes himself out of it, standing carefully. “I must go. It is getting late,” he says and pulls her into a hug. “Goodnight, queen mother.”

She waved him off, “You mean you are late. Be careful, T’Challa.”

“I always am.”

*****

M’Baku is naked when T’Challa finds him. He’s eating chocolate covered strawberries beneath the silk sheets of their - of the bed. TChalla sighs, pulling off his tunic as he closes the door behind him. “What have I told you about eating in bed?”

He settles beside M’Baku and steals one of the strawberries. “Not without you?” he asks, a smug grin on his face. There is only one strawberry left and T’Challa rolls his eyes. “You took longer than I expected. I almost started without you.”

“That would have been a sight to see,” T’Challa says with a smile. M’Baku gives him a considering look before handing the bowl over to T’Challa and stretching out against the pillows.

Initially, they’d had a queen sized bed in here but M’Baku was much too big for that. They’d broken the wooden headboard when M’Baku gripped it for leverage as he pounded into him. They’d broken the metal headboard when T’Challa got too enthusiastic during a blow job and wrenched the whole thing apart. Now they had an overly large mattress, extravagantly large, quite expensive and fortified with vibranium. T’Challa had nearly melted requesting it to be made and M’Baku still thinks back fondly on their first time christening it.

Now, he leans back against the plush pillows and slides the sheets down. T’Challa holds the strawberry to his lips, eying M’Baku as he spreads his legs and takes hold of his cock. M’Baku was thick, his cock heavy and dark between his thighs as he strokes it slowly from root to tip. He’s trying to put on a show for T’Challa, biting his lip to head off a low moan. His back arches briefly as he settles into a slow rhythm, his breathing labored as he circled the head teasingly. T’Challa’s mouth watered, the scent of chocolate in the air as he watched a bead of precome leak from the tip. M’Baku pants, the head dark and flushed as it started to thicken in his hand.

M’Baku’s hand sped up, stroking with more vigor as his eyes fell closed. His hips rose to meet his fist, more slick leaking as he worked his hand. T’Challa set the strawberry aside, watching more intently as M’Baku started to moan low in his throat. It was low, near enough T’Challa almost didn’t hear him whisper “tiny king”, a whimper and then, “so tight” as he bucked into his hand. T’Challa’s breath caught, eyes locked on M’Baku’s hand as he dropped a needy hand to his groin. M’Baku had grown louder, murmuring into the pillows as he stroked himself desperately. He was close; T’Challa knew that and he moves in closer.

M’Baku’s eyes open, hazily taking in T’Challa’s closeness as he grips his cock. T’Challa lowers himself to the pallet and waits, his eyes intent on M’Baku’s cock. Once he realizes what T’Challa intends, M’Baku groans, his eyes closing as he takes hold of the back of T’Challa’s head. “You want it?” he asks quietly, a low rumbling growl in his throat as his cock thickens in his hand. T’Challa doesn’t have time to nod before M’Baku’s cock pulses and spills over his hand.

Pleased, T’Challa leans in and takes the tip into his mouth, groaning as it pulses thicker on his tongue and spills more. He swallows, smiling as M’Baku scratches at the back of his neck. He’s not a cat but sometimes M’Baku treats him like one.

He sucks and laps at the head of M’Baku’s cock until he’s spent and lax on the pillows. T’Challa grins with satisfaction and pulls back, the taste of M’Baku on his tongue. M’Baku eyes him lazily, gaze falling to T’Challa’s groin. “Let me,” he began but T’Challa shook his head, moving up to lay his head on M’Baku’s chest. “You don’t want… really?”

“I’m okay. I just want to lay here for a while. Is that alright?” he asks hesitantly.

It’s quiet, M’Baku’s breathing calming as he lies still in the dark. Then he shrugs, his voice deceptively light as he replies, “I suppose. I am a comfortable pillow.”

“That you are,” T’Challa agrees, relaxing only when M’Baku’s hand strokes down his back.

*****

M’Baku was a difficult teacher.

Determined to keep T’Challa on his game, he’d added weekly training sessions to their meetings. Sure, it soothed some of his aches when M’Baku spread him out after a rough lesson and rewarded him for his hard work. Some of his best memories took place on those mats with M’Baku’s weight heavy and all encompassing.

But sometimes, like today, T’Challa just wanted to wipe that smug smile off of M’Baku’s face.

T’Challa had strength and speed where M’Baku had power and it wasn’t quite a match but T’Challa restrained himself from his abilities as much as he could. But that wasn’t promise enough for M’Baku so T’Challa must also be blindfolded. Today, he handed T’Challa pair of Shuri’s sound blocking headphones. This was a training session, allegedly. T’Challa was doubtful as it seemed like an engineered opportunity for Shuri to whack him with bo staffs.

“Again!” M’Baku calls cheerfully. He was getting more enjoyment out of this than Shuri was.

T’Challa stiffens and listens for the shift of air as the staff whipped through the air towards him. He waits, tense and then - _whack_ and another laugh. “Shuri, this is not for your amusement,” he chides.

“But it is amusing,” M’Baku replieds and T’Challa hears them high five. They were a match made in hell and T’Challa was starting to hate their newfound friendship. He pulls the blindfold off and glares at their matching grins. Shuri holds the staff at her side, a brow raised.

“Are you done for the day, brother?” she asks teasingly. “I have better things to do with my time.”

“Do you, though?” M’Baku asks curiously. Shuri rolled her eyes and tossed the staff to him. She went to fetch her bag and straightened her hair. M’Baku frowned, looking to T’Challa in wonder.

T’Challa shrugs, coming out with, “Where are you off to?”

“Places, brother,” she answers dismissively.

“Shuri!” he calls, his hands on his hips and M’Baku would laugh except he, too, was curious.

“I’m meeting someone in the city,” she answers drily.

“Who?” T’Challa asks.

“Someone. You don’t know them,” she says vaguely. “Now, keep ‘ _training_ ’ while I’m gone,” she teased.

They watched her go, identical frowns on their faces. “I don’t like it-oh,” M’Baku scoffs.

“She is older now,” T’Challa reasons although it sounds weak to his ears. “She is allowed her secrets, as I have mine.”

“You don’t like it, either,” M’Baku says plainly.

“I don’t,” T’Challa admits and it took a moment for him to shake himself out of it. “Now, where were we?”

M’Baku shoots another a look towards the doorway before turning back to T’Challa. T’Challa knew that look. He steps back, raising a hand warningly even as the heat churns in his belly. “Oh, no. No, you don’t. I have one hour blocked off for training and nothing else.”

M’Baku shrugs, taking T’Challa’s blindfold in hand. He shoots T’Challa a seemingly innocent smile as he notes, “There are many uses for these things, my king.”

T’Challa catches the mischievous glint in M’Baku’s eye and shakes his head, “What am I going to do with you?”

*****  
In the past 6 years, T’Challa had developed a routine.

He had a standing… meeting with M’Baku in the mountains. He took the train there as soon as it was available. While he wondered if his people knew why he regularly rode out to the mountains, it was nice to be amongst his people. The Dora still travelled with him, although they sent one soldier discreetly and knew better than to follow him once he’d reached the Jabari platform. To others, he appeared thoroughly invested in maintaining the alliance with the Jabari.

And it was partly why T’Challa kept returning. The primary reason would be waiting for him in bed, probably naked with extra furs for T’Challa’s “thin skin”. He smiles as the train slows to a stop and exits, the biting cold air stinging his skin. No matter, he would be warm soon enough. He’d been in Quebec helping the Avengers with a prison breakout and he hadn’t even stopped by his home before getting on the train, eager to see M’Baku.

He’s brought to the throne room, more empty than usual. He scans the room, looking for any sign of the men he recognized. Unfortunately, he doesn’t see Ari, M’Baku’s second, or Ekon, his third. In fact, he doesn’t see anyone other than the servant that let him in. He goes to the edge and looks out, seeing nothing but hearing voices.

He sets down his bag, grabs a thicker sweater and follows the sound of voices. The trail leads him down slick, snow covered steps to a stadium, more of a pit dug into an ovular shape with several seats filled with Jabari. More of the tribe than T’Challa had ever seen, particularly the children. He enters the stands and finds a seat near the front, thoroughly confused.

In the center, two tall figures were engaged in combat, masks on with weapons in hand. He wondered if this was some kind of tradition he’d never been around for in the last 6 years. There was so much about the Jabari he still did not know and he pestered M’Baku whenever he could.

He watches one of the men swipe at the other with a circular blade, Nakia’s weapon of choice. He slashes wildly, tiring himself before T’Challa’s eyes. He counts the fight as a loss for the man before the other fighter lashes out too early and gets a sharp slice to the stomach in return. Come to think of it, the bigger man was moving as though he had been fighting for quite some time now. Even so, the smaller man wastes his advantage and it takes two quick moves to get him on his knees. He yields and takes the proffered hand up.

The crowd cheers, chanting and stomping their feet. T’Challa watches curiously but it appears the event is over. He turns to a woman next to him and pastes a charming smile on his face. “Have I missed everything?”

She shakes her head with a grin, “Don’t worry, we’ll be back tomorrow. By the looks of things, we’ll be here for a week or so.” She stood and gathered her children to leave. T’Challa curses M’Baku for not telling him about the even earlier. He would have liked to see the different techniques used by Jabari fighters.

He follows the crowd but turns off at the path to M’Baku’s quarters.

 

He’s in M’Baku’s bed going over the reports from the Wakandans stationed in Paris when the door opens. M’Baku stumbles in, pulling a mask off his head tiredly as he goes. He doesn’t notice T’Challa at first, struggling to lift his feet as he pulls off his armor. Piece by piece, he reveals more and more bruised and abraded skin, blood soaked into the lining over his stomach, back and hips.

T’Challa gasps, alerting M’Baku to his presence. Even surprised, he is sluggish in turning, worrying T’Challa about what he would have done if T’Challa had been an intruder. T’Challa’s off the bed in an instant, rushing over to M’Baku and helping him pull the armor off. T’Challa hadn’t done this often but every time, he marveled at how heavy M’Baku’s armor was. It appeared to get heavier with age as he pulls off breastplates, gauntlets and helps M’Baku step out of his boots. He nearly stumbles, leaning into T’Challa heavily as the last of the shoulder plates were removed.

Once bare, T’Challa stood M’Baku up and got a complete look at him.

“It is not that bad. I assure you, it is worse than it looks,” M’Baku murmurs, a trail of blood sliding down his temple. T’Challa’s stomach twists as he takes in the bruises, splashes of purple across M’Baku’s left pec and shoulder. A welt the size of a handprint on M’Baku’s thigh. A slice along his side where he hadn’t been fast enough. A gash above his temple that was bleeding sluggishly.

“Why?” T’Challa asks, a knot in his throat. M’Baku does not ask him to clarify, reading every question on T’Challa’s face. His brow furrows in concern and he nearly reaches out for T’Challa’s face but he stops himself; unsure if it would be welcome.

“I did not want you to worry,” he began, slumping over to the bed. He starts to climb on before he thinks better of it. Instead, he turns and starts limping into the bathroom. T’Challa follows and moves over to start running some water in the tub. M’Baku stares at him confusedly.

“You think you can stand long enough to shower?” M’Baku sighs heavily before nodding and shuffling over, unusually submissive. T’Challa helps him climb in and grabs a washcloth. He wets it and carefully cleans around M’Baku’s injuries. The water turns pink rather quickly and the smell of copper fills T’Challa’s nose. He swallows painfully but keeps up the steady pace of his work, clearing his throat a few times, “Explain.”

M’Baku’s eyes close, shivering every so often as T’Challa cleaned him. He raised a hand up to his face, droplets of water trailing down the side where T’Challa had cleaned a cut. “It is the challenge for leader of the Jabari.”

T’Challa paused, “How often does this happen?”

“It doesn’t,” M’Baku answers quietly. T’Challa’s hand drops into the water as he waits. M’Baku tries a few times before he gets the words out, “The challenge does not take place unless the people call their leadership into question. The title has been passed down over the years without any challenges.”

He turns to face T’Challa, his eyes wide and open, water spilling over the tub and wetting T’Challa’s shirt. The shame in his eyes gave T’Challa pause. “I am the first leader to be challenged in one hundred and seventy years.”

T’Challa takes in the pain in M'Baku's eyes and pulls him into a tight hug. M'Baku sighs, his face tucked into T’Challa’s neck as a wet hand comes up to hold T’Challa to him. “I am sorry, M’Baku.”

“Don’t be. My fault.” He pulls back, his eyes lowered to the pink water surrounding him. “I have failed my people.”

“You did no such thing.”

“They don’t think I have their best interests at heart.” He climbs to his feet, tendrils of water sliding down his body as he stepped out of the tub. T’Challa watches him move to the full length mirror in the corner, examining his bruises. “Did you hear them today?” he asks suddenly, looking at T’Challa over his shoulder. “It was not thunderous applause at my victory; it was polite. I thought the challenge would be met with question but instead...” he trails off, his voice rough.

T’Challa hands him a towel and leans against the counter, noting the older bruises on M’Baku’s back. “Is this the first day?”

M’Baku froze, his mouth working nervously. Still, he knew better than to lie to T’Challa. “Not quite.”

“M’Baku,” T’Challa hissed and M’Baku sighs. “How long?”

“Eight.”

T’Challa stared at him, “M’Baku… why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I could handle it.” He comes closer, his eyes open and honest. “I am handling it.”

“Eight days of challenges? How does this work?”

“I fight until I can’t fight any longer. It really is quite straightforward,” M’Baku says lightly and T’Challa can’t bear to look at him any longer. He leaves the bathroom and storms into the bedroom. “If need be, I ask a second to take my place. As is my right if the challenges go above five challengers. But there will be no need for that. I have won every challenge against me and it is a fool’s errand.”

T’Challa scoffs at the flippant way M’Baku described it. Eight days. Eight days of men who trained for years trying to take M’Baku down, one after the other. A part of T’Challa was quite pleased with how well M’Baku fought after so many days of exertion but it was drowned out by the part of T’Challa that wanted to scream at him, _how could you keep this from me?_ He lies down on the bed and turns out the light pointedly. “T’Challa,” M’Baku calls to no answer. “T’Challa, don’t be like this.”

“Yes, M’Baku. Please tell me how to react when you tell me that you’ve been lying to me for eight days.”

Silence.

Then soft footsteps as M’Baku pads toward the bed. He climbs in, still damp from the bath and wraps his arms around T’Challa’s body. T’Challa shifts, grumbling under his breath as M’Baku tries to sooth him, “I will fight and I will win. Do not worry about me, tiny king.”

“Do not worry… when your armor is fused to your skin,” T’Challa replies, rolling over. M’Baku is studying him in the dark. “Do not worry when you cannot even get your armor off on your own. Nearly every inch of your skin is covered in bruises and cuts but you want me not to worry?”

“I am sorry I didn’t tell you,” M’Baku says, dropping a kiss to T’Challa’s shoulder. “Please forgive me.”

T’Challa stares at him for quite some time before turning over onto his side. “How much longer?”

 

Day Nine, M’Baku gets a second wind.

After the challenge, he meets T’Challa back at his quarters and doesn’t break stride. T’Challa swallows, taking a step backwards for every one of M’Baku’s steps forward. M’Baku telegraphs a grab and T’Challa moves with it, his heart pounding. M’Baku was playful at times but it had been a while since they’d added this element to their play. T’Challa swipes at his legs but M’Baku blocks it, gripping T’Challa’s shirt and swinging him around.

He gets T’Challa on the floor, their legs tangled as M’Baku tears at his pants. T’Challa laughs, letting M’Baku swallow his joy in a kiss. He takes M’Baku’s weight as he writhes against T’Challa’s body and holds his arms over his head. T’Challa was a king but tonight, he was M’Baku’s reward for a fight well won. He lets himself go, gazing up at M’Baku in surrender as M’Baku writhes against him and celebrates his victory.

 

By day twelve, M’Baku slips.

M’Baku had been having more and more trouble with aches and pains the last few days. He took a rather serious gash on the tenth day and had snapped at T’Challa when he tried to clean it. He was angry at the situation and angry at T’Challa for trying to fix it. But underneath all of that, T’Challa knew he was angry with himself for not seeing things had gotten this bad between him and his people.

On this day, T’Challa was watching from the sidelines as M’Baku’s left foot slides on the cold ground and he takes a spear to the hip. T’Challa gasped, his heart in his throat as he held the blanket tight around himself and waited for M’Baku to regain his footing.

He never does.

Instead, he falls to one knee and blocks the challenger’s sabre clumsily, the shield falling away immediately after, much too heavy for his tired arms. The challenger lifts to swing again and T’Challa wants to look away but he can’t. M’Baku lets out a shout and he just barely manages to slice the challenger’s inner thigh with a lucky flail of his blade. There is no honor in it but M’Baku keeps his throne and his life. The challenger leaves and M’Baku tries to climb to his feet. He stumbles, catching himself with a grunt before trying again. He can’t get to his feet on his own and he lowers his head in shame. T’Challa waits for Ari to help him up but he doesn’t.

He can’t because he’s pulling off a cloak and entering the field himself.

Day thirteen and M’Baku will fight his own second in command.

T’Challa’s heart aches for him as he takes to the field and helps M’Baku off. M’Baku smiles at him gratefully before he passes out, giving all of his weight to T’Challa. It’s a lot to bear but he manages, not daring to ask for help as the crowd silently clears out. The cheering had stopped by the tenth day. A few spectators spare T’Challa kind smiles on their way out but T’Challa doesn’t return them. He was supposed to go home on the eleventh day but he couldn’t leave M’Baku like this.

He takes M’Baku back to his bedroom and runs him a bath. T’Challa had offered to heal M’Baku days earlier but the Jabari liked to wear their scars. Instead, T’Challa patched him up and spent the night watching M’Baku sleep and wondering how to he could fix this. It had gone too far. Challengers were coming from far and wide to challenge for the throne and M’Baku grew more and more fatigued with every passing day.

T’Challa had wondered aloud how this could possibly be fair but M’Baku had waved him off. T’Challa had climbed on his back to treat the wounds there as M’Baku’s voice rumbled through his body. “The Jabari are a self reliant people, tiny king. If there is trouble here, we cannot call on the mighty empire to come save us. We must protect ourselves. We need a leader that will continue to fight when things get hard. A leader who gives up because he is tired or injured or cold will not survive the winter.”

It made sense to M’Baku. That was just the way things were but now he had slipped. Today was lucky, tomorrow would not be. T’Challa had to do something.

That night, he put M’Baku to bed and laid the groundwork. “Let me step in for you.”

“No,” M’Baku said, his eyes closed.

“You cannot continue on like this.”

“I cannot let you do that.”

“M’Baku,” He repeated, his voice stern. “You cannot continue on like this-“

“I will not!” M’Baku shouts, sitting up to stare at him. As tired as he was, his eyes were bright and certain. Then, he seemed to realize he had spoken over T’Challa and apologized. “I am sorry, my king but I will not let you fight my battles for me.”

“It is your right as the leader. Let me sub in for you.”

“T’Challa, I will not let you-“

“I nearly lost you today!” T’Challa replied. “Do you know what that felt like? Standing there amongst everyone else and seeing that easy opening to your throat? It was pure luck that saved you today. If I had lost you…,” his throat tightens and he tries to swallow. His eyes are warm, spilling over his cheeks as he continues, “If I had lost you, I would lose myself. You are part of me, M’Baku.”

M’Baku sighs and pulls him into a hug, his broad hand stroking T’Challa’s back. His hands are soft where his words are not, “I need to do this for myself, T’Challa.”

“You say you cannot let me do this, I cannot let you tell me ‘no’,” T’Challa says. “If the situations were reversed, can you honestly say you would not do the same?”

“I know I would,” M’Baku confesses, pulling back. His eyes are hesitant, “Just as I know you would turn me down all the same. I need to do this, T’Challa.”

 _And you will die_ , T’Challa thought. He nods, climbing out of bed. “If you want to get yourself killed, that is your prerogative. I will not be compelled to watch.” He kisses M’Baku’s lips and starts gathering his things. M’Baku takes his wrist and tries to call him back but T’Challa bids him farewell and leaves.

 

T'Challa gets as far as the station but can go no further. He told his council he would be returning today but he cannot step one foot off of the platform. The train doors close and T’Challa lowers himself to his knees.

Was this the cost?

He would get years of happiness only to watch M’Baku die because of his own stubbornness. T’Challa had fallen for the only other person to match him for foolish pride and now he would suffer for it.

 

His feet carry him back to the arena, heart in his throat.

He’s half afraid he was too late but even more fearful of being right on time.

If... if this was going to happen, T’Challa owed it to M’Baku to be there.

He sits in the front, on the edge of the field. M’Baku appears more worn than he had ever been before. It seems he can barely keep his eyes open but he fights valiantly. He’s desperate; T’Challa can see it in his eyes and it pains him. He wishes more than anything that he could take this burden for M’Baku.

It’s over rather quickly.

Ari gets M’Baku down on his knees, the blade pressed to his throat but his words to his leader surprise M’Baku and T’Challa, as well. “We did not do this to cast you out, Great Leader.”

“I have failed you, Ari. I am sorry,” M’Baku says quietly. He gazed up at Ari imploringly, helplessly. 

“You have not,” Ari replies sternly. “That is why we have done this. You opened new opportunities for us in Wakanda. I met the love of my life in the city. That place has been lost to us for so long and you brought us back together. We are thankful.”

“This is how you show thanks?” M’Baku demanded.

“You will not leave. You think your duty is here,” Ari explains and finally T’Challa understands. “It is not. It is where your heart resides.”

M’Baku’s eyes widen, the desperation too apparent. T’Challa cannot watch. “No, I have not- I have not been blinded to the needs of my people. I will not let you take this from me.”

He reaches up but Ari gets a knee to his shoulder and keeps him in place with a grim twist of his mouth. “Your people love you, Great Leader. Let us give you this gift.”

M’Baku sneers, his body tensing, poised for a strike. T’Challa watches silently as, after some time, M’Baku deflates, his blades fall and he slumps to his knees.

“The Great Leader yields. He has fought valiantly for thirteen days; the longest challenge in Jabari history. Your people thank you.” The applause in thunderous, everyone leaping to their feet around T’Challa but he can’t see anything past the devestated slump of M’Baku’s shoulders.

He hadn’t moved an inch, his head lowered in defeat. T’Challa was witnessing the kindness of a people and the worst moment of M’Baku’s life. He moves forward, hearing the hush befall the crowd as he helps M’Baku to his feet and takes him off the field. M’Baku had to be exhausted but he refused to let T’Challa take his weight. He wouldn’t even meet T’Challa’s eyes.

Once back in his quarters, T’Challa moves into overdrive, removing M’Baku’s armor and cleaning him up. Whether intentional or not, Ari had left few marks on M’Baku’s body. He grabs M’Baku one of his sleep tunics and pulls it over his head. M’Baku cooperates but doesn’t respond.

Finally, he’s dressed for bed when M’Baku reaches out and pulls T’Challa’s close to him. He doesn’t speak; his breathing loud in T’Challa’s ears. T’Challa doesn’t have any words of comfort to offer; no advice or course of action. M’Baku had just lost the title he’d worked his entire life for and he’d lost it for T’Challa. What could he say to that?

If M’Baku asked him to leave... T’Challa would go. He could ask no more of M’Baku. Not after today.

Instead, M’Baku rasps, “Can you... stay?” he asks quietly. T’Challa’s heart wrenches at the uncertainty he found there. Had he been so cold as to lead M’Baku to feel he couldn’t ask for comfort? M’Baku has been nothing but supportive and comforting to T’Challa in their time together.

He supposed... maybe M’Baku was unsure because there’d never been reason to ask.

M’Baku was so strong and so certain in everything that he did. He never questioned his choices or hesitated in battle. He lead his armies with confidence, he made his proclamations proudly, and he handled any discord amongst his men in such a way that garnered him respect and loyalty. He was the leader T’Challa still strives to be and he was T’Challa’s mountain.

Yet, here he was laid so low and small for the first time since T’Challa had met him. And he was asking for T’Challa.

Nodding, T’Challa moves in close and pulls M’Baku into a kiss. Then he led them over to the bed and watched M’Baku lay down. He climbed in after him, his mind reeling even as he tried to focus on M’Baku. There were so many things up in the air. Could they continue to stay here for much longer? Ari would be coming soon to claim his quarters. Was this the last night M’Baku would sleep in this room... it was unthinkable.

“Will you... does this mean you will have to leave this place?” T’Challa asks. He means this room but M’Baku’s breath hitches with pain.

“This is my home. I will not be driven out.”. He turns over to face away from T’Challa and T’Challa sighs. He slides his arms under M’Baku’s and palms his chest, stroking softly.

“I meant this room, M’Baku.” M’Baku freezes as though the question surprised him.

“I do not know,” he answers honestly. He turns onto his back, his eyes soft and open. “ I don’t know, T’Challa. This has been my only purpose for so long and now that I am without it... I don’t know anything anymore.”

“You can stay with me,” T’Challa offers, the council be damned.

“They will not cast me out,” M’Baku says and it stings. That was not why T’Challa had offered.

Rather than clarify, he strokes M’Baku’s chest and asks quietly, “What do you need?”

M’Baku hesitates and then gestured to the side table. “Grab the oil.” T’Challa complies, handing it to M’Baku who refused to take it. Instead, he looked at T’Challa intently and asked, “Just this once... could you - could you...” he trails off and T’Challa had never seen him shy away from asking for anything here either.

It sends a flash of heat down his spine as he nods. Swallowing nervously, he pushes lightly at M’Baku’s shoulder. “It will be easier if you - if you turn,” he murmurs. M’Baku complies as T’Challa places a pillow beneath his stomach and rolls him over. He slicks his fingers, his heart pounding in his chest as he spreads M’Baku open and presses a finger pad against his opening.

M’Baku stiffens, his breath catching before T’Challa pets his hip and waits for him to relax. T’Challa slowly circles the entrance until it relaxes a little beneath his finger before a thought hits him: he is the first to do this. The way M’Baku reacted, the things he hadn’t said, no one else had ever done this to him before. Swallowing thickly, T’Challa vows to make it good for him. M’Baku deserved to be taken care of for once.

He dips his finger inside, sucking in a breath at the heat that engulfed his finger. He works it in careful, aware that it would feel weird for M’Baku at first. He builds a careful rhythm and then works in another finger. M’Baku’s tight heat sucks him in, and T’Challa has to drop a hand down to his cock to steady himself. He’s up to three when M’Baku, still quieter than usual, mutters, “Get on with it, tiny king. I don’t have all night.” T’Challa worries for a moment, reaching lower when M’Baku grasps his wrist.

“Don’t, don’t,” M’Baku says. Then quieter, “I’m close and I want to - I want…” he can’t say it but T’Challa understands. He slicks a fourth finger and slides it inside along the others, stretching him out as much as M’Baku allows before he shifts and a low groan sounds.

T’Challa slicks up his cock, wary of stroking himself too much least he end things too early. Then he lines himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressed against M’Baku’s opening as he breathes. He strokes M’Baku’s hip gently as he slowly sinks in. It’s torture to go slow; M’Baku’s pulling him in, so hot and slick inside and T’Challa’s eyes fall closed. He holds fast to M’Baku’s hip as he pushes in, listening intently for any sign of discomfort.

Then, “No wonder we haven’t tried it this way. You’re too slow, tiny king.” T’Challa huffs out a laugh.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs and M’Baku scoffs. He pushes back, taking T’Challa in all the way and panting. T’Challa groans, the feel and the sight of being buried inside M’Baku nearly sending him off. He pulls back and strokes in carefully, smiling at M’Baku’s sigh. It takes a moment for him to get comfortable building up a rhythm and then M’Baku’s gripping the sheets and rising on his knees.

His muscles shift as he pushes back into T’Challa’s body, taking him deeper. He moves faster, drawing T’Challa in roughly as he moans, reaching down to take hold of his cock. The sight draws T’Challa to pound in harder, deeper, until M’Baku shudders and comes with a low groan. He tightens around T’Challa, dragging him over the edge right after him. T’Challa cries out, feeling M’Baku clamp down around his cock as he spills inside of him. They keep each other on edge, T’Challa covers M’Baku’s hand and strokes his cock as M’Baku tenses with every pull.

When he comes down, M’Baku is moaning softly, working lazily to grind back into T’Challa’s hips. T’Challa lays a kiss on his shoulder and starts to pull out when M’Baku grips his wrist. “Just.. a little longer. Okay?” he asks softly and T’Challa’s chest tightens.

“Of course,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the space behind M’Baku’s ear. He laid them more comfortably on their sides as he stroked M’Baku’s chest. “You’re coming home with me,” T’Challa murmurs. “I know it’ll be hard but it’ll be better than lumbering around like an old ghost, don’t you think?”

M’Baku shudders, his face turned away before he shifts and lets T'Challa tuck him closer against his chest. How someone so large could appear so small, T’Challa would never know. “Just for a little while. Not forever,” M’Baku concedes. Then, “I will be your live in mistress, tiny king. I would like a live in chef of my very own. I want a room with a huge bed and my own bathroom. I expect lots of fancy silks and jewels.”

“How did I come to love someone so spoiled?” T’Challa asks wryly but then M’Baku tenses. They didn’t exchange the words often. It was never T’Challa’s intention to withhold but M’Baku tensed every time. “M’Baku,” he chides.

“I do not know,” M’Baku replies. “This is no longer an alliance. There is no cover of diplomacy or council meetings.”

T’Challa hums in consideration, smiling to himself. Ramonda, Shuri, Okoye, the Dora Milaje and the council had made one thing clear to T'Challa over the years. He drops a soft kiss to M’Baku’s shoulder and murmurs, “There never was.”


End file.
